Epilogue to Suns and Lovers
by Ravenclaw42
Summary: Just a snippet of some lighthearted J/A after SaL. Too much dark stuff happened on the show in S3, and this is just spur-of-the-moment oddness. I'm too young for this stuff. Eh. R/R, please.


**Epilogue to Suns and Lovers**  
  
Spoilers: Suns and Lovers  
  
Feedback: is a thing almost better than chocolate. (Almost.)  
  
A/N: I'm not sure what to call this. My tribute to hormones, I think. Anyway, Dylan Turner (thanks so much for the reviews! I was thinking about not loading anything else if no one ever came up and said something nice about my stuff) pointed out that I had a bit of a pattern of Crichton torture... so I decided I'd load the one story in which I was actually nice to him for a change.  
  
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She punched the dummy again.  
  
The red, triangular punching dummy made a satisfying swishing sound as it flopped backwards for the thousandth time, only to fly back straight a few seconds later.  
  
She delivered a continuous string of kicks and punches to the scarcely padded dummy. She kicked it, imagining that it bore her face, to exacerbate her constant want to kick herself. She had to face it, she knew nothing about tact. She had had a few unreliable moments of what could pass as tact in her past - but it was really a combination of educated guesses, common sense, and luck. And that had passed as tact on a Peacekeeper base... she certainly couldn't imagine how she'd even _thought_ that type of could work on John. So she'd been blunt with him, telling him that if he wanted, they could have sex. And, displaying the truth in the common phrase turnabout is fair play, he'd bluntly replied that he didn't need her charity. So she'd pretended that this hadn't hurt on some deep level and had told him, later that day, that he was right. But on that same deep level she knew that his rejection had hurt more than she'd realized was possible. She'd thought he knew her... that the only way she knew how to be close to someone, and to relieve the tensions of being close to someone, was to procreate. That was it - how she'd been raised and trained, and what she had commonly put into practice on the old Command Carrier. It had always been two steps forward, one step back in her relationship with John, and she longed for something more permanent than the fleeting ecstasy of his hand on her skin or her lips on his.  
  
_She_ longed for it. He'd asked her earlier if this was for him or her, and now she realized, ashamedly, that it was for her. What in the universe had driven her to being so profoundly _blunt_ with him? She'd probably just widened the gap between them. And now, with the Interon dead, D'Argo thoroughly heart-broken and depressed, Chiana and Jothee still left to take care of and Zhaan's condition worsening more rapidly than anyone had estimated, she couldn't imagine him coming back on her offer. There was simply too much to do.  
  
She punched the dummy again.  
  
  
  
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Wandering along the dark, forgotten halls in Moya's underbelly was not the most calming thing for John, but there was simply nothing to do.  
  
D'Argo was locked in his quarters, and it pained John to even think about what the Luxan might have on his mind at the moment. Hence why John was also avoiding thoughts of Chiana and Jothee, as well as the actual people. Stark had already commandeered the mission of saving Zhaan, and was on Command day and night now, directing Pilot and studying his recently acquired star charts. Zhaan just stayed in her quarters and deteriorated. Decaying, he thought resignedly. Even a dead plant remained for a few days, decaying, perhaps holding on to a small shred of life in a single green twig or spray of leaves. She was not yet gone. So he let Stark deal with it.  
  
Aeryn's offer had tempted him to the point where his mind was reeling in shock at the full realization of his longing for her. Alex had never made him feel this way, or Gilina or even Kate, all those long years ago. But, he reminded himself, the course of true love never did run smooth. He was sure he'd said something wrong, he knew it; he'd probably only succeeded in pushing her farther away by telling her that he didn't need her charity. So frelling blunt! he told himself vehemently. Stupid! He'd always thought he possessed something at least vaguely resembling tact, but apparently he didn't. It was just that Aeryn was always so sudden and... well, it had just been very bad timing. His had always relied on luck as it's leading factor, which had obviously failed him, and he placed Aeryn's sudden, bad timing on countless years with the Peacekeepers. He just always found it so hard to think of her as an alien, and then she would display this fact to him at the most inopportune times, and he - caught completely off his guard - would reply in a not-so-subtle way that was very unlike him. He really felt that he ought to go and apologize to her, but he didn't want the conversation he knew would ensue to take the wrong sort of turn.  
  
But, then again, since when had it become the wrong turn? To relieve at least some of the tension stifling the ship might be nice. He'd thought of himself and Aeryn as being together' since they'd both declared their love for each other not so long ago, but, thinking back, he knew they'd been together for much longer than that. By their actions and the other crewmember's various, badly masked reactions, he knew quite well. Maybe it was closing in on time for them to be open about it - or, at least, more open than before. It had always been so frelling obvious, he didn't know what on Earth had blindsighted him so badly.  
  
He smiled and headed back towards the more inhabited areas of the ship.  
  
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Rygel was sitting and enjoying a snack of genery soup he'd salvaged from the commerce station when Crichton's head poked through the door to the center chamber. Rygel looked up long enough to see Crichton glance around quickly and then make as if to duck back out again. Rygel knew that look. Any given one of the crew wore that look only when they were desperately searching for someone.  
  
Who're you looking for? asked Rygel, though he already knew the answer. As said, he knew that expression... and he knew that Crichton only wore it in his searches for one person in particular.  
  
Just Aeryn, he replied hastily. You know where she is?  
  
By the thumping resounding through the entirety of Tier 9, I'd say the exercise room. Rygel narrowed his eyes suspiciously.   
  
Oh... Nothin'. Just want to finish up a conversation I was having with her earlier.  
  
So what's gone horribly wrong this time?  
  
he replied truthfully. Just something about a fluid backlog I need her help fixing. He smiled mischievously and headed off towards Tier 9 before Rygel could utter another sound.  
  
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FIN


End file.
